


Mastiff

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Thorin Oakenshield, Ficlet, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin sleeps outside to try and avoid his alluring future queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mastiff

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Dwalin's admired princess Thorin for as long as he can remember. She's smart, incredibly beautiful, proud. It's never going to be a problem, because he's a guard and knows his station, the Durins marry other royalty, not minor nobility lika a Fundin. Anyway, he wants someone better than himself for his princess. Then comes the battle of Azanulbizar and Dwalin's in enormous trouble because seeing the little princess he trained to lift an axe all grown up and strong and going against orcs makes him TURNED ON and being away from Erebor makes it impossible to keep his distance and shit, she might notice. (Thorin is actually trying to flirt with him but Dwalin is too panicked to notice.) + BONUS for Dwalin being all shy in bed and Thorin having to take charge” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22332395#t22332395).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s not normally so easy for Dwalin to slip away, but in a crowded space with chaos everywhere, he can get away with it. He wanders right out the front door, round and green and so very _foreign_ , and he picks his way back over the hedge to sit behind the hill. If he stood, he’d get a reaching view of whatever part of the Shire he’s in, but when he sits, the flowers cover most of it. He can tell that these gardens are tended with care, so he does his best not to trample them, instead settling back in the grass. When he stretches out on his back, the stars are something of a comfort—not so very different than they were in Erebor, if he doesn’t think too hard. The sky is the sky, even if Bag End seems a whole other world. 

He can still hear the others inside, but it’s muffled, all the ruckus dying into sleep and the remnants of stories. Dinner was a riot, complete with songs and drink, until the tales of Erebor started, at least. At the start of the evening, Dwalin was quite looking forward to it—seeing everyone again, getting ready to _go_ , start out and _do something_ instead of cowering so far from their home. But then Thorin spoke of the battle, and Dwalin had to sit there and hear the strain in her voice, see the pain in her eyes. He had to listen to her recount the loss of her home and many of her people, and then it brought his own memories crashing back in—seeing the princess he’d trained to fight lifting up her axe, rallying their army and cracking more orc heads than anyone else. She’s always been fierce, beautiful and proud, but that was her shining moment, and Dwalin remembers it with a mingled sense of awe and fear of his own feelings. 

That was the moment his heart burst, and the feelings he’d kept back for so many years seemed undeniable. She deserves better, and he’s always known that. But thinking of that battle makes it hard to not throw himself at her feet, so he scrambles for all the distance he can, even if it means relinquishing a warm sitting room for outdoor exile. But all that just makes him think of her inside, lying under plush halfling covers, and a shiver runs through him, one hand lifting to rub at his eyes. How he’s managed by her side this long, he doesn’t know. He might’ve been a fool to agree to this quest. He couldn’t possibly let her go alone, but being on the road with her for so long will be its own kind of torture.

He tenses when he hears feet coming up the hill—probably Nori thinking the grass is greener, or Balin checking in on him—he left in a huff, though that’s hardly unusual for Dwalin. He should know better. It’s Thorin that comes tramping through the gardens, her dark hair lit pale from the moon. Dwalin sits up, but before he can get any farther, she’s at his side, announcing calmly, “Tight fit in there.”

Dwalin grunts, “Yeah,” but can’t get any more out—she’s lying down right next to him, stretching out, her pack back inside but her coat thick enough for a makeshift blanket. She’s perilously close, her knees curled around his legs, and it takes him a moment to add, “You should have the spare bedroom.”

“I’m letting my nephews have it—I promised Dís I’d look out for them,” Thorin answers, gesturing a hand dismissively. For all her title and former wealth, Thorin’s never been prissy. “Besides, you know I’ve had worse.”

He does. He’s _seen_ worse. They’ve trudged through nightmares together since the fall of their home, but that doesn’t make new ones any easier. While she tucks her arm under her head like a pillow and wriggles her thick body to get comfortable, Dwalin grumbles, “You deserve better.”

She just laughs and says, “That’s my Dwalin.” He blushes, and she uses her free hand to pat Dwalin’s thigh affectionately, before reaching up to tug at his coat. He gets the picture: he won’t be escaping. There’s nothing for it but to lie down beside her: following the silent command. It might be the for the best, anyway. He can keep an eye on her out here. He trusts most of the dwarves in his company, but he trusts no one with Thorin but himself and maybe Balin. She looks better for the recent food and drink, and her stubble’s neatly trimmed, hair sporting thin braids, all her best clothes dragged out for the occasion. It’s often difficult not to get lost in her handsome face, and he makes a physical effort to look up and try to watch the stars. 

He can feel that her eyes are still on him, and she murmurs, “These are nice gardens.” Maybe they are. Dwalin’s never been very good at judging flowers or beauty, except in Thorin’s case. When he doesn’t answer, she teases, “At least out here, I have you to protect me.”

He snorts, his cheeks heating again. He mutters, “Aye,” even though she’s probably a better fighter than him at this point. She knows; she’s just flattering him. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone better. Maybe that’s part of why he can’t get her off his mind. 

It’s also that she’s wise, well-spoken, and his head’s full of her deep voice from the evening’s song. She smells good beside him, raw and thick from the journey. She’s _beautiful_ , large and curved with taut muscles and long, wavy hair tumbled decadently over her shoulders. He’s seen her in sweat-stained undershirts, chest heaving in the midst of a practice fight, but she’s still as perfect now in her thick mail and furs. He’d roll away if he had the strength, grow sore on one side to not get sucked in. 

She asks quietly, “Are you acting even grumpier than usual because we spoke of our past?”

He grumbles, “Something like that,” and wishes he’d hidden it better. 

“Was it the Battle of Azanulbizar?”

He breaks his resolve not to look at her and immediately regrets it. She fixes him with her level stare, boring into him, and he’s fixed in place. He swallows around a lump in his throat, and Thorin holds his gaze while saying, “I remember that flicker, in amongst all the pain and blood, that I saw of your eyes. We had more important things to deal with, but I saw it, and I remember.” She shifts forward, just a tiny bit closer, but it’s enough to put them flush together, one of her knees poking over his, her coarse fabric catching in his and the weight sending a fiery heat right up his spine. She reaches out, and her hand ghosts over his beard, fingers skimming along the ends, coming to wrap around his face, her palm pressing into his cheek. It isn’t as soft as it used to be, rough and calloused from undue labour. 

He murmurs, “ _Thorin_ ,” and isn’t sure if it’s in want or warning. 

She whispers, “How many years do I have to find excuses to lie with you before you finally do something about it?”

His eyes go very, very wide. She strokes his cheek once, then withdraws down to his chest, pushing over it, and her fingers tighten in his cloak, jerking at his shoulder, forcing him to roll towards her. His eyes flutter shut, a groan held back in his throat, his muscles paralyzed. Her fingers stay in his tunic, playing with it, and she glances down at the movement while she mutters, tone grave, “It’s all starting soon, Dwalin. We’re taking a journey we may not come back from. I want to hope, but I’m not a fool. I don’t have complete faith in Gandalf’s urgings—just look at the pitiful burglar he’s given us, who looks like he can’t even hold a sword, much less face a dragon.” She pauses just long enough for her eyes to flicker back up, watching him from under her tense brow. “I don’t want to die without us having fixed this.”

He didn’t know she knew at all, much less thought it broken. He grunts numbly, “You won’t die. You’re too stubborn for it.”

She laughs. It’s good to hear, and when she’s finished, she finds his hand, wrapping her fingers around it and bringing it up to her mouth. She kisses his curled knuckles, soft lips and the slight brush of her mustache. Then she looks at him with her fierce smile: a woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. She purrs, “I know you want me, Dwalin. I’ve let you fumble for all these years, hoping you’d get over yourself, but it’s come to a head now. If I’m going to be on the road with you, spending nights under the stars like this, I want to be able to come to you for relief without you turning me away out of some misguided sense that you aren’t good enough. Dwarven warriors aren’t meant to be bedroom shy, you know.”

Trust Thorin to crack right through his armour, sit him down and make him gulp, “Bedroom?”

“It was hard, talking of our past,” Thorin sighs, before her voice slicks over with honey, purring so close to him, “but it also made me think of you and your bulging muscles covered in sweat, fighting hard alongside me. And that always makes me very, _very_ wet.”

Dwalin’s mouth falls open, but he has no time for anything else—she’s reaching across him again, and suddenly she’s moving, throwing a leg over his waist and straddling him, lifting right up and rolling on top of him. She lands in his lap, silhouetted by the stars, her hands on his shoulders and her thighs spread across his stomach. He’s speechless, and she smirks. She takes his wrists in her hands, her fingers barely able to close around the girth. She presses them to the ground, pinning him down, and she lowers to hiss over his lips, “Some great warrior.”

He mutters, “I can’t fight my future queen.”

“Will you make love to her, then?” She rolls her hips before he can answer, grinding her crotch into his. He’d already been growing stiff from the moment she settled down beside him, but now his trousers are almost painfully tight. He nods his head because she’s taken the words right out of him, and she lowers down, her scruffy chin pressing into his. She tilts her smaller nose alongside his, her lips open. He can feel the heat of her breath, and then her lips are against his and they’re _kissing._

For one, blissful moment, Dwalin’s a shuddering wreck. He can’t believe this is happening. He moves his wrists gently out of her grasp, and she lets him go, her hands sliding into his beard instead, holding his face still. He puts his hands on her hips, light and tentative—he can’t shake the notion that this is far, far too good for him, and it could end at any moment. But she only kisses him harder, harder, just like he knew she would, so fierce that it grinds his bared skull back into the earth. He’s half ashamed that all he can seem to do is stumble beneath her, but the proverbial bedroom is very different than a battleground, and he never could rise against her. She breaks him down to raw emotions, this one just being _love_.

When she breaks the kiss, she drags his bottom lip in her teeth, and he’s already breathing hard. He can feel her breasts heaving against his chest with her own laboured breath. There’s too many layers between them, but they’re not in a place to strip—there’s a slight chill in the air and too much risk of getting caught. Thorin grins hungrily like none of it matters, her hands skimming down his body. 

She doesn’t seem to mind his complete submission. She plucks at his breeches with harried fingers, until her hands are inside, and his head tosses back, gasping. She has no shame—of course she wouldn’t. He’s always been hers, anyway—every part of him. She squeezes his thick cock in her hand, pulling it out into the air, her other hand pushing down her trousers. He stares at her and somehow manages to mumble, “Are you... ah... taking the proper herbs...?”

“Mhm,” she mumbles like it’s nothing, focused on her task. But then her eyes flicker up, a knowing gleam in them, and she coos, “I like my pleasure as much as anyone, though that doesn’t mean that if I do someday decide to make little heirs, it won’t be with you.” A shiver runs through Dwalin’s body—he never even thought of that—it’s one thing to please her and belong to her, another to sire her _children_. It’s a struggle not to let his mind get ahead of himself, and he tries to concentrate on _this_ , enjoying every second. She lifts up on her knees, hovering over him.

She presses the blunt tip between her legs, and he wants to curse the dark—he can’t see enough. What he can see is his every wet dream. She’s only opened her trousers enough to take him, the fabric stretched high along her thighs, but it’s enough to show off the smattering of black curls and the rosy lips between, parting as she presses into his cock. He can feel her juices against his foreskin, and with a sudden breath, she plunges down. 

It’s all in one fast, exhilarating go, sending Dwalin’s vision blurring and his mouth crying out in pleasure. She moans just as loud—hopefully Bag End’s doors and windows are all closed. She sinks right down to the base, all of it inside, her weight heavy atop him. She puts her hands on his chest, rolls her hips, adjusts to him and clenches around him, and Dwalin holds desperately onto her, dizzy from it. He’s never had a woman go down all at once like that, but he hasn’t had many, always wanting _her_ , and he should’ve known she’d be rough and harsh. She groans and rocks into him a few times, her channel velvet-soft and stiflingly hot around him, wondrously wet. Maybe she wanted him as much as he’s always wanted her, but he doesn’t see how that could be possible. She takes a moment to straighten, composing herself, and then she growls, “We’ll do this a lot on the quest. We’ll try everything. Every position, every place, every pace. By the time we reach Erebor, we’ll know each other’s bodies like the backs of our hands.”

Dwalin nods against the ground in complete acceptance. He’s never been happier to receive his princess’ command. She rewards him with a rock of her hips, a smirk, and a moaned, “I take it back—it’s fine if you’re shy.” She’s best in command, anyway. She takes the lead, and he tries to keep his hips down when she sits up, even though his body’s screaming to slam into her. 

She slams down instead. Then she picks right back up, pushing against his chest and flexing her thighs, letting his cock slide half out of her, impaling herself a second later. She sets into a merciless rhythm, bouncing up and down on his cock like a wild animal. The slapping sounds are almost as loud as their gasps and moans. It’s all Dwalin can do to hold onto her and take it. She clenches around him sometimes, and he’s sure she’s doing it on purpose. She feels so _good_ , looks so _perfect_ , with her face flushed and her hair bouncing off her shoulders, her breasts bouncing through all her layers of armour. He’s almost glad they’re still dressed, because he probably couldn’t take her naked all at once—he’d explode—but he still wants _more_ , and he pulls at her tunic, tugging her forward.

She bends over him accordingly, though it’s a more awkward angle. She keeps riding him, on all fours. He lifts up on his elbows to help, kissing her hard but her harder, her tongue shoving into his mouth. She fills him while he fills her, and then she parts them, leans her forehead against his, keeps riding his cock and moans, “We should’ve done this years ago.” He can’t disagree. 

He only cries out as he finishes. It’s too much, and he grabs her suddenly, arms looping around her shoulders to pull her down, crushing her body against his. She gasps, and he throws his hips up, his seed spurting into her tight channel. The squelch of it around him is like nothing else he’s ever felt, and her pussy seems to convulse at the offering, quivering hot and milking him out. He keeps thrusting, half because he wants to finish her off and half because he can’t _stop_ , and she quickly recovers to slam back into him, moaning lewdly in his ear. 

She follows a moment later. He can tell from the way she shudders, how her juices seem to overflow around him, and how she cries out, hoarse and beautiful. Witnessing her pleasure is as rewarding as experiencing his own. When she’s finished and slumping against him, he’s anesthetized with ecstasy. He’s never had a better night in his life.

Slowly, she lifts her hips off of him. His softening cock falls out of her, dragging a trail of liquid, but she only collapses back on top of him after, panting as hard as him. She’s heavy, but he can take it. He misses that warmth when she rolls off, curling up at his side instead. 

A few more minutes of recovering, and Thorin tugs her trousers back up around her waist. She sighs, “You better not keep distant from me on this trip.”

He snorts. He doesn’t have the energy for a full on laugh. But somehow he manages to lunge at her, wrapping her in a crushing embrace that would break a more fragile dwarf. Thorin simply holds him back, nuzzling into him. He growls fiercely, “I’ll never leave your side.”

She laughs, though she must’ve already known it. She kisses his cheek, and he slowly lets her go. 

But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps close to her, her close to him. She tucks him back into his breeches, and he puts his arm under her head for a new pillow.

They fall asleep entangled with one another, enclosed in dulcet halfling flowers.


End file.
